We Are Monsters
by Creature Creature
Summary: A boy with no path to go down. A man with no hope for redemption. Once their paths cross, they are forever tangled threads. Fate can be a fickle thing. Full summary inside. MxM pairing. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**We Are Monsters.**

Hello Dears.  
It's been quite a while since I've written anything new that I deemed worth publishing, and I think this fic is something I am going to be very proud of. I've wanted to write a multi-chapter fic for quite some time now, and finally I have a plot in mind that seems to fit the bill. I do hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it.

**Summary: **Awoken in the forest, a remnant finds himself conflicted. With no path and no purpose, what is it that drives him to continue living? The reason is hidden out there somewhere, and Yazoo is determined to find it, come hell, high tides, or the business end of Vincent Valentine's gun.

**Warnings: **Yes, Dears, warnings are in order for this one. There will be blood. There will be gore. There will be swearing and sex and a merry ol' time for us all. One definite male/male pairing, I may toss in another if I am so inclined to do so. And oh yes, let us never forget the threat of my ever present dry humor, which will no doubt weasel its way in here someway or another.

**Disclaimer:**I hereby denounce all claim to the characters and places in this fic. They are not mine, I am simply manipulating them to fit my sick and twisted pleasures in life. Who knows, one of them may even have a toaster fetish. Simply put, the plot is mine and nothing else. Ta ta.

Without any further ado, a Creature Creature literary work: **We Are Monsters.  
**

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The explosion had hit him like a steeled kick to the chest, and when his consciousness returned, he still felt it. A puzzled expression molded its way across his sharp, yet delicate features as hazy jade eyes took in his surroundings. This was not where he had fallen. The was not the rubble of the crumbling city where the smallest of them had taken his leave from the world. This was cool air, moonlight, glowing trees, and the sounds of water and wind around him. The forest capitol that had served as their base of operationf for a time.

Realization struck him.

How was it that he'd gotten here? Had he died and been spit out by the lifestream? Rejected and left to wander? But if that was so, would he still feel the pain in his chest and ribs that continued to knock the very breath out of him? No, he decided not. Had someone brought him here? Found him in the streets and brought him out here in these woods to die? That would be without gain to them, unless perhaps it was Loz. But his senses, or what he could gather of them, told him the largest remnant was gone from the world as well. Loz was dead. As was Kadaj. He was alone here.

Utterly and completely.

It took a great deal of effort to sit up, but he managed, gritting his teeth against the ever lingering protests of his battered body. He laid beside the lake, he noticed. The same lake where they had gathered the infected children. Where Kadaj had sought to build his army. It was a familiar place to him, so perhaps he had somehow brought himself here. His head ached too strongly when he pushed himself to remember, so for now the middle remnant let the matter slide. How he'd gotten himself to safety; how he'd even managed to survive at all, it mattered not. He was alive, alone, and without a purpose. Why the planet left something broken and incomplete, with no purpose, was beyond his understanding, but he did not question it further.

_"We'll go together." _

The last words he had spoken echoed through his mind and he scoffed, the vibrations causing a coughing fit that left traces of blood dripping from his lips. His own blood. Something he had never seen before. Looking himself over, he noticed he was, in fact, quite damaged. Cuts and scrapes marred his once flawless skin. Blood dribbled from his lips down his chin, but he made no move to wipe it away. His hair was matted with blood, sweat, and dirt. A tangled mess he once would have been ashamed of. Glass and metal scrap was imbedded in his skin where his coat once would have protected him, though it now was torn and of little use.

He looked, he realized with a hint of humor, like _shit._

As difficult as sitting up had been, standing proved to be ever more the chore. Again, he managed, shifting his weight to one hand only to have a staggering pain tear itself through his arm. His right hand, he decided, was broken, the shoulder dislocated. Digging his left hand into the ground beneath him, he pulled his legs in and pushed himself to his feet, swaying as he stood and cursing the planet under his breath. Gripping his shoulder with his good hand, he swallowed what would have been a cry of pain as he forcefully popped his limb back into its proper place. As he stood on shaking legs, Yazoo couldn't help but feel as if the glowing forest was mocking him. The silent trees seemed to laugh at him, though their expressions lay hidden behind bark and wood, branches, leaves and the like. He scowled up at one, half tempted to put a bullet in the damned thing out of sheer spite. Though as his left hand reached into his coat, seeking out the familiar sleek and cool touch of Velvet Nightmare, he was met with only the tattered remains of leather where his gunblade would usually be holstered. He must have lost it in the explosion on the rooftop. Lost to the rubble now. Perhaps, he thought, he would go back and try to find it. But some other time.

The first step forward was the hardest. The one after that even harder. After a few steps, they became a bit easier, and simple enough to execute, but each one brought on a new agony. The glass and metal and who knew what else that was imbedded in his legs threatened to knock him off his feet at each step, and soon enough Yazoo found himself leaning on the same trees he had cursed only moments before. Moments. Only moments. Mother, how they felt like hours. Using his teeth, he removed the glove of his left hand, letting the torn material drop to the ground as he reached down to remove a particularly bothersome piece of scrap from his leg. Blood flowed from the gash, but he ignored it, staggering on and leaving a bloody trail in his wake. His destination was unknown, but he pressed forward. Forward because the past was useless to him now. The mission was a failed one. There was no "mother." There was no hope for reunion now. It was a dream best forgotten. And forget he would. Forward because forward was the only way to go from here. And because standing by a little lake in the woods bleeding on himself wasn't going to get him anywhere. Breathing was agony. Walking was torture. But he made no sound of complaint and simply continued on. His mind relaying a mantra to him of "_Keep moving, Yazoo. Just keep moving. Find a new path. " _Somehow, for some reason, he had survived. It was a reason unknown to him, but he would continue to live until he found it. Because somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Yazoo had not wanted to die there on that rooftop.

A root in the ground caught his foot and he stumbled, unable to catch himself before falling. A yelp of pain escaped through his chapped lips as he landed on his broken hand. He sat for a moment, collecting himself, then stood again, as best he could. Shaking his head against the slight sense of vertigo that unbalanced him, he took a step forward. As he moved to continue on, the familiar click of a bullet sliding into place met his ears and he turned quickly, finding himself face to face with a set of deadly crimson eyes.

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Hours now he'd been watching. Hovering in the treetops and slipping from one shadow to the next. The scent was one he'd picked up immediately and not been able to ignore. Blood and dirt and death and that unfamiliar but all too known to him trace of that _thing._ Jenova. The scent filled him as soon as the remnant had wandered into the woods. From that very moment, the gunman had sought him out, watching from the tress. Observing. The remnant was broken, injured, dazed, and unarmed, but Vincent knew better than to assume he was harmless. A remnant of the famed Demon of Wutai, imbedded with the cells of the Calamity Jenova itself. He was not now, nor would he ever _be_ "harmless." Not until the day he was dead with the rest of them. Though for now, in these moments, he looked it. An unconscious, bloodied heap beside the lake. Vincent regarded him with a careful awareness, watching for any sign of movement from the fallen boy.

_Boy._

The three of them had all appeared quite young. Misguided children thrust into a cruel world with one mission. One purpose. Find their so-called "mother." Revive their so-called "brother." A family reunion that would mean the destruction of the planet and the death of thousands of innocents. They had been stopped of course. Their plan, thwarted, by Cloud and his friends, himself included. The demons of the past haunted them no longer. But if this _boy_awoke and still sought for Jenova, Sephiroth, the damned reunion, or any combination of the three, Vincent would have a bullet in that silver headed skull of his sooner than he could speak his first words. Nothing would threaten this peace that they had fought for. Nothing and no one and most certainly not one misguided. Little. Boy.

Cold crimson eyes hardened as the remnant below began to stir. As he observed from his place in the shadows above, he had to admire the boy's sheer determination. What was it that drove him on so? He was in obvious pain, seemingly struggling just to breathe, yet he got back on his feet and shoved his dislodged shoulder back into place with a sickening pop that would have made an average man cringe. He walked on wobbling legs, like a newborn taking its first steps, and Vincent could swear the remnant would fall at any given moment. As he moved forward, his pace slow, Vincent followed through the treetops. This remnant could not be left to wander in the open. It was too much a risk. He had to be watched, and closely. Kept out of Turk hands for certain. He decided then that it would be his burden to bear. He'd discovered this boy, so he would continue to watch him. As the remnant stumbled, hitting the ground with an audible yelp of pain, the first sound he had heard from the boy, Vincent leapt silently from the trees, landing without a sound a few paces behind the other and drawing his gun.

As the bullet slid into place, the remnant turned quickly and their gazes locked, crimson eyes cold while jade ones blazed with a mix of curiosity, surprise, and fear. The remnant moved to take a step back but stopped when Vincent spoke three small words, barely audible, but with enough force behind them to leave him frozen in his tracks, staring down the barrels of Death Penalty.

"Do. Not. Move."

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**Ah, there's nothing quite like the fresh taste -?- of a new fic. Well, I hope it entertained. More to come soon, Dears.**

xx Creature Creature


	2. Chapter 2

**We Are Monsters**

**Author's Note: **Hello dears. For any of you that have given this a read, I thank you. I'm very determined to keep this story flowing, and I still think this is a work I'm going to be proud of in the long run. I'm actually rather enjoying writing it, which I suppose is quite a good thing. After all, if the author gets bored with their own story, who will ever want to read it? It may seem a bit dull in the beginning chapters, but I promise, the wait will be worth it. I have many plans for this one including drama, action, romance, passion, and so much more. I really hope it captures you.

As for updates. I do plan to update once a week at the minimum. I have a terrible habit of writing while I'm working, which tends to get me in quite the bit of trouble, but I have no mind for impudent workplace rules. I hope to update every Thursday and Sunday night, so with any luck this fic will move along quickly. And really, who doesn't get excited for updates? I know I do. I suppose my babble is getting a bit redundant now... ta ta!

**Chapter Warnings: **A bit of gore, nothing too disturbing.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own FFAC, the characters, the places, or anything else related to the Final Fantasy franchise. The plot, however, is mine and mine alone.

**We Are Monsters**

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Time in the glowing forest seemed to stop in motion. Everything around them was silent, as if a single chirp of a bird or the slightest rustle of leaves would cause the finger hovering over the trigger to press down and let loose the bullets to hit him square between the eyes. The sequence played in his mind as he stood, looking more at the barrels of the gun than at the man wielding it. He saw the fingers squeeze. He heard the deafeningly beautiful sound of the bullets releasing. They seemed to move in slow motion as they soared through the crisp night air, crossing the mere feet between the two gunmen. As the three bullets struck in perfect unison, he felt his head snap back with a force that should have snapped his neck then and there. He felt them each as they pierced through flesh and bone and muscle to lodge themselves deep within his skull. Blood and brain matter sprayed from the wound like a fountain, washing over the man before him. Still he stood as the spray slowed, gurgling down his face into his nose and mouth, which stayed frozen in a silent gasp of shock. After a moment, his legs melted beneath him and he fell to his knees, then collapsed onto his side on the damn, cold ground of the forest around him. Dead, though his eyes still stared blankly ahead, and blood still pooled around him.

But he would be long dead before his body hit the ground. Daring to take a breath, Yazoo shifted his gaze from the cruelly beautiful firearm to the man who held the thread of his life in the palm of his hand. His red eyes were hard and cold, tortured and troubled, but not cruel. No, Yazoo did not see an ounce of cruelty in those crimson depths. It was perhaps the first time the remnant was glad for his ability to read people. He didn't think this man would pull the trigger, but still he couldn't be certain. There was that air of mystery around him that made it quite difficult to read the man properly, and that worried him. One wrong move and Yazoo knew it would be the end of him. Staying still, he studied the man's face, finding it somewhat familiar. Twice before, he'd seen this man. The first time in these very woods, when the little girl had run off, and Kadaj had readied the infected children to attack. The second time was in the city, near the memorial, when the smallest of them had called upon Bahamut Sin. Both times, this man had come to the aid of the Black Sheep, as Kadaj had labeled him. Yes, this man was an ally of Cloud Strife. Then perhaps this truly would be his end. Though much to his surprise, the gunman lowered his arm, locking the safety into place. For a moment, Yazoo wondered exactly what was happening, and then he felt something cold, hard, and sharp strike the side of his head. A dizzying pain made him see black, and when Yazoo's eyes fluttered closed, they did not open again.

He dreamed.

_His body was light, and surrounded by air. He was moving quickly, weightless as a bird soaring through the sky. Was he dead? No… no, not dead. But flying. He was flying. Wind whipped through his hair and over his face, gently kissing his skin. It stung his wounds, but soothed them more. Quite the freeing feeling. Yazoo had never known that he could fly… Then the dream changed. Now he lay on something soft and warm. His body was no longer weightless, but instead felt heavy as lead, and numb. Moving was difficult. So much so that he found it difficult to even lift his head or wiggle his fingers. He could not even find the small amount of strength to open his eyes. Warmth spread through him like the flames of a fire, and suddenly he didn't hurt so much anymore. The pain in his broken wrist vanished, and his ribs no longer screamed every time he took a breath. If only he could open his eyes…_

The room was dimly lit and blurry, but he could still manage to see a little. The faint green glow of a cure materia lingered in the air around him. His captor had healed him? But why? He thought perhaps he should ask, but then… perhaps not. Best to accept the kindness and be grateful than to question it. At least, that seemed the wisest choice if he wanted to survive. He didn't see the Red Man, the name he'd given the stranger in his mind, but Yazoo knew he was close. He could feel eyes watching him closely, boring into him so strongly he feared they would see to his very core. From what he could tell, he wasn't bound or tied in any way, which was a curious thing indeed. He doubted the Red Man trusted him enough to leave him unbound. No, he was close, and Yazoo wasn't stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. This was not a battle he could win.

Quiet as he dared, Yazoo pushed himself upright so he sat rather than laying down. He felt oddly more vulnerable this way, but he wanted to see more of his surroundings. It was a simple room. Small, with wooden floors and a decent sized window. An oak dresser stood in the corner with a mirror that was covered with an old white sheet. The bed he sat on was small, but comfortable, with iron railings that creaked a bit when he shifted. The door beside the dresser he guessed to be a closet, and the exit was the door beside the bed, left open so light from the hallway peeked in, giving the room its dim lighting. From where he sat, he knew it would be easy to slip out of that door and escape, but still he knew those eyes watched him. His vision cleared as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and as Yazoo slowly turned his head, he was almost started to see the Red Man standing silently in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows from the light. The red cloak had been removed, leaving the man clad only in black, save for the red bandana tied into his raven hair. A bit of light glinted in his eye, and Yazoo caught sight of the golden gauntlet that adorned the man's left arm. It was a beautifully constructed, brutal looking thing, and Yazoo reasoned it must have been this that struck him unconscious. With a bold move, the remnant moved his legs off of the bed, noticing in his movement that the remains of his coat had been removed. He shivered a bit, and moved to stand, but the Red Man's hand slowly moved out in a motion saying "stop" which Yazoo did not dare defy. Instead, he ducked his head, hiding his face behind his hair, but never taking his eyes off of the man before him.

"Not yet, boy," a deep voice said from across the room. The cold tone of his voice seemed almost condescending, and why shouldn't it? He was a monster, bred from monsters, created only to destroy. He had done terrible things. Attacked innocent people. Tortured, killed. Kidnapped and used children. He would hate him too, had he known how to hate. Looking down at the tears in his leather pants, he noticed the glass and metal was no longer imbedded in his skin. Had the materia done that? Or had his captor removed it himself? "You're still too weak. You won't be able to stand just yet." Despite himself, Yazoo nodded. He still didn't understand why this man even chose to keep him alive, much less why he had taken the time to bring him here and heal him. Testing his voice, Yazoo found himself meekly, more so than he would've liked, asking the question of "Where am I?" For a moment, he received no answer. Silence, as if the Red Man was weighing the pros and cons of telling him where he was. He received only a vague answer, but it was an answer none the less. "Outside of edge. Somewhere no one will find you but me." He nodded once in response to the answer, accepting it. It was better not to be found. "Why didn't you shoot?" More silence in return. Slowly, the Red Man crossed the room, his footsteps echoing off the old wood. "Are you going to kill me?" Yazoo asked, his heart beating just a bit harder when the man still did not answer him. Looking up at him, the remnant was quite impressed by the man. He was tall, taller even than Loz. Long, lean, and muscled. Raven hair almost as long as Yazoo's own silver tresses cascaded down his back. Pale skin that looked almost white in the moonlight that shone in, and even in the dim lighting, those crimson eyes seemed to glow. He was quite a man. Beautiful, but frighteningly so.

"No. I'm not going to kill you."

Catlike jade eyes clouded with confusion. Was this a trick? A game of some sort? But before the remnant could even ask the question "Why?" the Red Man answered it for him, as if reading his mind. At this point, Yazoo would not be surprised if he _could. _"The planet seems to favor you alive, so I will make sure you stay that way," he said slowly. "Though I'll warn you now, most out there wish worse on you than death itself. For now it's best you stay out of sight and well hidden. You'll stay here until it is safe for you to do otherwise. If you try to escape, then planet be damned, I will put a bullet in your head faster than you can take your first steps. Am I understood?" The remnant nodded. Simple terms. Stay and live, or leave and die. For now, Yazoo favored living. "You should be able to stand now. There's a shower through there," he said as he motioned to a door across the hall, "with everything you'll need if you'd like to get cleaned up. I'll find you something decent to wear." Blinking, Yazoo tilted his head in utter confusion. "Why are you helping me?" Red eyes looked down at him from the doorway. "I'm not entirely certain myself. Leave it to say you interest me. I wonder exactly what can be learned from you." With that, he was gone from the room, and Yazoo listened intently as his footsteps got further away, descending a flight of stairs and disappearing through a door.

He waited a few moments before bending to remove his boots, setting them neatly by the foot of the bed against the wall and out of the way. His legs were still a bit unsteady as he stood, and he had to catch himself on the railing by the end of the bed before he fell to the floor. His body was stiff and sore, but no longer in unbearable pain. As he reached the door, Yazoo peered down the hall. To the left were three doors. One on the same side as the room he was in now, and two on the opposite wall. To the right was a set of stairs with an intricate railing, and a small overhang that overlooked the first floor. It was an old house, but well-kept by the looks of it. Crossing the hall to the washroom, he flipped on the light and closed the door behind him, avoiding looking in the mirror best he could. He did not want to see himself in such a state. What he'd seen in the lake was enough. Instead, he turned on the water, letting it heat up while he stripped himself of his tattered clothing. It was well beyond repair, but he folded it neatly none the less and set it on the counter before carefully stepping into the shower. The steaming water was quite possibly the most wonderful thing he had felt in days. A few different soaps and shampoos had been set out, and Yazoo took his time cleaning his hair, washing it twice until he was satisfied that all the blood and dirt had come out. He scrubbed at his skin so hard he was surprised that it didn't bleed, then shut off the water, wringing out his hair and reaching for a towel to wrap around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he collected his things and walked back across the hall to the room he'd woken up in.

True to his word, there were a few articles of clothing in a neatly folded stack on the dresser. Closing the door, he turned on the light and dried himself off, dressing in a simple pair of black cotton pants that he tied at the top to properly fit his slim waist, and a loose black cotton tshirt to match. Black was always his color. As he toweled his hair dry, Yazoo looked in question at the covered mirror, reaching out and pulling down the sheet that covered it. He took in his reflection. Now that he was clean, he didn't look so bad, though his skin was still marred with various bruises and scrapes. But they would heal, and he doubted any of them would scar. The cure materia had worked wonders on his injuries. Setting the sheet aside, he resumed drying his hair, hanging the towel back to dry in the washroom when he was done. Glancing down towards the stairs, he wondered where the Red Man had disappeared to. Letting his feet and curiosity lead him, he went in search for the man to whom he owed his life.

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From the moment he'd struck him, Vincent had wondered exactly what it was he intended to do. He should have pulled the trigger. Should have rid the planet of the remnants once and for all. But for some reason, something inside him couldn't do it. The boy had looked helpless, lost, and hopeless. Vincent continually asked himself why. Why did he lower the gun? Why did he bring him to this house by the cliffs that he had found some time ago? Why did he bother himself with keeping the boy alive? What good was he? The planet was better off without the reminders of Jenova and Sephiroth running around. Yet still he had let the remnant live. He'd brought him back to the place he deemed his home, put him in a room, and had gone so far as to heal him. A wiser man would have killed him when they had the chance. It seemed a foolish move, but something in him told him to go about things this way.

When the remnant had begun to stir. Vincent had tensed. His Death Penalty was holstered at his side as he stood against the wall, arms crossed, eyes focused. He watched as the remnant sat up, looking around the room until finally he noticed him there in the corner. He looked startled, almost frightened, and Vincent could have scoffed then and there. They always found him so terrifying. He was a monster, no matter how many times he fought alongside Cloud and the lot of them. He would always be a monster. He would always be feared. And they still wondered why he insisted on hiding himself away.

The boy moved to stand, but Vincent stopped him, admittedly surprised when the remnant obeyed. Self-preservation, he figured. The boy was a smart one, doing what he knew would keep him alive longer. Then the questions came. Some, he answered, others he left vague or didn't answer at all. The remnant didn't need to know exactly where he was, or why exactly Vincent hadn't disposed of him. Those were questions best left for another time. Instead, he sent the boy off to get the dirt and blood off of him, leaving the room and walking down to one of the spare rooms on the first floor. Whoever had occupied this house before had left quite a bit here, and it was easy to find clothes that looked around his size. He gathered a few things together and took them back up to the remnant's room, stacking them neatly on the dresser. He heard the shower running as he passed back to the stairs, stopping for a moment to reassure himself that this was not the most foolish thing he could've done.

He wondered what Cloud and the rest would think. If they found out, of course. Vincent was a master of secrets. Two years he had known them, and they knew so little about him. They knew only what he let them know, nothing more. This was just another secret to add. Another thing he kept hidden away from the world. But if he was right, and the remnant was not to be feared, then all would be well. Still, he wondered. Would they call him foolish? Crazy perhaps? Mad? Best if they didn't find out, he decided. At least, not so soon. Not until he has assessed the situation further. Learned more about this boy. Maybe, with a little luck, he could get him talking. If there were plans for reunion or Jenova, he would find out and stop them before they started. The world did not need another calamity.

He heard the water stop from upstairs, and tensed again from where he sat. The leather armchair was a bit worn, but still it was his favorite place to sit and think, as a fire blazed before him. Soon the remnant would come looking for him, that he knew. Either that or he would go exploring. Either way, they would face each other soon, and there would be more questions. Of that, Vincent had no doubt. Already he felt the beginnings of a headache, and moved his hand to rub the bridge of his nose lightly. As he heard the light footfalls descending the stairs, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

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**Another chapter complete, and I must say I am pleased with it. I hope it entertained. Next chapter coming soon.  
**

**Until next time, Dears.  
**xo Creature Creature


	3. Chapter 3

**We Are Monsters.**

**Author's Note: **So.. I feel absolutely horrible for this impromptu extended absence of mine. There are many, many reasons that I've been away, most of which have to do with an illness I was recently diagnosed with. As it is, I have been simply unable to write, as sitting for a long period of time is becoming more and more uncomfortable. Though I am happy to say that with some care, rest, and regular remedies, I am doing quite well for now, so I hope this story will be able to resume regular process. In the beginning of writing this, I had hoped to update twice a week. Unfortunately, I know my updates won't be coming along as quickly as originally planned, but I can promise that I will continue working on this piece of work. I'm quite fond of it after all, and I hope you readers are as well.

I would also like to thank everyone who has left a review on this. It really motivates me to kick myself in gear and start writing more, and I can promise that I certainly will. With any luck, I won't have another absence like this for quite some time. I had hoped this chapter would be longer than it was, but really, I started it so long ago it was a bit hard to continue it. The next will be longer, that I can assure. I hope this is enjoyed.

**Summary: **Awoken in the forest, a remnant finds himself conflicted. With no path and no purpose, what is it that drives him to continue living? The reason is hidden out there somewhere, and Yazoo is determined to find it, come hell, high tides, or the business end of Vincent Valentine's gun.

**Chapter Warnings: **Nothing warning worthy in this chapter. Just a bit of idle chatter that may or may not bore you to the core. My sincerest apologies.

**Disclaimer:**I hereby denounce all claim to the characters and places in this fic. They do not belong to me, no matter how often I imagine them tied into various positions in the back corners of the dark depth that is my closet.

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**We Are Monsters. **

Small bits of light licked at the shadows on the walls as the remnant made his way through the dimly lit house in search of his captor. Captor, yet savior. An odd combination, and one Yazoo was still mulling over in his mind. He still didn't quite understand why he was alive or what the Red Man could possibly hope to learn from him. Information on Jenova? Sephiroth? He hardly knew more than vague details of the two. All he knew were bits and pieces he had heard when Kadaj was muttering in his sleep. Those nights seemed so long ago now, though in truth it had been only days. Only days ago his brothers were alive with him. Now he was truly alone. No vibrations of the others in his mind, only memories, and vague blips of images at that. Yazoo had never thought preserving memories was an important thing to do. Reunion was all they had known, and their so called Mother had promised them an eternal gift for their services. How naïve they had been. And how foolish. The memories he had so carelessly looked upon were now the only threads he had of his brothers to cling to. This existence seemed to meaningless now. Yet still, he was grateful to be alive.

The wood creaked a bit under his bare feet as the remnant roamed the house, still searching. He felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck nearly everywhere he went, yet still he could not find the Red Man. But he felt his eyes. That cold crimson stare that made all of his senses stand on edge and the muscles in his body tense. Those eyes that seemed to penetrate deep down into the very core of his essence. They made him feel things he was not accustomed to feeling. Fear, anxiety, vulnerability. The mere thought of them would have made him scoff and toss his long locks over a shoulder, head tilted up just a bit in that smug arrogance that radiated off of him only days ago. Funny how quickly people could change. He no longer viewed the world as a thing lower than himself. Humans were no longer inadequate, vile beings. He was not superior. He was only a puppet. A tool made for destruction. What good was he now? He still didn't know.

No man could get far with broken tools, after all. And Yazoo was very much broken.

The long hallway emptied into a decent sized room, a fire burning bright in the fireplace on the far wall. There were bookcases lining the walls filled with thick volume after thick volume, and a desk was on the wall opposite the fireplace, the seat empty, papers in a neat pile on top of the polished wood. A soft looking set of chairs sat near the fireplace, as if someone had been there only moments before. But the study was empty, save for the remnant who looked around in innocent curiosity. It appealed to him. The calm, collected atmosphere of it. From the books to the desk to the fire, everything seemed so perfectly in place. Until those tremors along his neck returned, and he knew those eyes were on him again. Looking up, he turned a bit, facing the other side of the room, where it connected to what he assumed to be the main living room. The Red Man stood, leaning against the wall beside the archway, just barely inside the room. Cold eyes watched him intently, not even blinking. It unnerved him more than Yazoo would admit, but he did not back away. Every inch of him was begging him to run back up to his room and stay there, hidden under the covers like a child terrified of a storm. He could see the storm brewing in those crimson depths, even through the dim light of the room.

"Your leg," he said simply, though the tone seemed to be asking. Yazoo took a slow breath and nodded once. "It feels much better now. Thank you," he said quietly, trying to keep his eyes averted, though from the corner of his eyes he still saw his captor standing there unmoving. "Sit," the Red Man's deep, velvet voice spoke. Silently, the remnant obeyed, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the fire. Pulling one knee to his chest, he let his head rest on it, jade eyes staring ahead into the flames even as his captor sat in the seat opposite his own. "Ask," was all he said. The remnant looked up at him, confusion evident in his eyes. "You have questions," he continued, "so ask." A thin silver eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Questions? Oh yes, he had many. But none that seemed important enough to ask. All but one. Sighing, Yazoo lifted his head just barely, looking briefly over to the other man. "Why me?" he asked. "Why was it me that lived? If anyone deserved to it would have been Loz. Certainly not me." The Red Man seemed to ponder this a moment before he replied. "We cannot control which way our fate is dealt. Perhaps you had the stronger will to live. Perhaps his injuries were simply too much for him to bear. Whether or not you deserve to survive is not the point of it. The outcome remains the same either way. The others are gone, and you are here. What matters is what you plan to do, now that you've been given this chance." Yazoo nodded, taking in the words slowly, and thinking them over. He was right, really. There was no use wondering why when it wouldn't bring them back. It wouldn't change anything. But as for what he planned to do, the remnant didn't have the faintest idea. He didn't know how to lead a normal life, or even what the word normal began to mean. "You said you wanted to see what you could learn from me," he said quietly, breaking the silence when it finally began to speak too loud. "I can't say it will be much. I don't know what you want or what you're looking for. It it's about Sephiroth, Jenova, or any of that, I don't know much. I don't know anything really. Kadaj was never one to shed much insight on the things that went on in his mind. I won't be much help." He almost thought he caught the barest glimpse of a smirk grace the Red Man's lips. Almost. He looked up at him again. "I do have another question though. I'm supposed to stay here, I understand. I won't defy that. I'd be stupid to cause problems in my position. Though I would like to know your name, if I may."

Raven hair shifted over one shoulder as the man tilted his head just a bit to one side. Something in him made Yazoo feel like he was getting laughed at. He could almost hear it. Snips of laughter and whispers too faint to fully understand. Perhaps he was going mad now as well. "And what would you do with my name, remnant? What good would a name serve you?" It was spoken monotonously, but Yazoo still felt he was being mocked. His pride began to bubble inside him but he pushed it aside. Now was not the time to say things best bitten back on his tongue. "I assumed we would be seeing each other often," he said instead, biting back every insulting comment that threatened to glide off his tongue, "I would like to be able to address you properly. Without a name, I'm unable to do so. I thought it would be… polite."

The Red Man seemed to consider these words. For what it was worth, not much he knew, Yazoo was being honest in his request. He owed this man his life, and saw it fitting to adress him with the proper respect. Calling him something as ridiculous sounding as The Red Man was fine in his head, but he was sure if spoken aloud it would only bring more of those questioning, scrutinizing looks that made his spine tingle with insecurity and awkwardness. He could only stand to seem a deer in headlights for so long. Yazoo wanted to somehow retain any small shread of his pride that he could manage. He stood silently, the dim light flickering over him and casting shadows over his features as Vincent studied him intently. He was still very much questioning his decision in letting this one live. He would have a lot of explaining to do if Strife or anyone, for that matter, found out about this. And if the remnant somehow got loose, knowing his name could prove a danger to the ex-Turk. But he supposed for now... "You may call me Vincent."

Silver hair glistened as the remnant bobbed his head in a small single nod. He played the name over in his mind, deciding that yes, that name suited the man very well. He supposed it would roll easily off the tongue when spoken as well. "And you, boy?" he looked up at Vincent, the slightly sharp way the word "boy" was spoken stung him in an odd way. "Have you got a name? Or am I simply to continue calling you a remnant?" He blinked once, long lashes fluttering before tilting his head just the slightest bit, using his bangs to shield his eyes from view. "Yazoo. They called me Yazoo."

Vincent straightened from his place on the wall, arms crossed over his chest even as he took a few steps. Still, he studied Yazoo, calculating and unsure. He didn't seem much of a threat, not in his current state, wounded, weak, and unarmed. But still it would be best to keep a close eye. The growling from his inner demon solidified this decision. If Chaos was unsettled as well, there was certainly reason to be cautious. Though he was sure Chaos was interested for a completely different reason. Not surprising. The remnant was beautiful, just as the man he resembed was. But this was no time for those thoughts. Letting his arms drop to his sides, he tilted his head up just the slightest bit. "Well then, Yazoo. Best familiarize yourself with this place. You won't be leaving anytime soon." And with no other words, he was gone into the darkness of the manor, leaving the remnant to bask in the thoughts that were growing steadily more and more tangled.

* * *

**Again, I apologize for the long absence. I hope this made up for it in any small kind of way. **

**Reviews, comments, questions are all always welcome. Until next time, my dears.**

**x.o. Creature Creature.**


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